White Lies (29 page)

They were both dressed casually. She was in what had become her Arizona uniform: black trousers and a T-shirt. Jake wore a denim shirt that covered the bandage and a pair of khakis. Aside from the fact that he kept his left arm close to his side, there was nothing to indicate he had been injured.

“He’s trying to project an approachable, reassuring image,” Clare said. “His clientele consists of seniors who are living on fixed incomes and hoarding their savings for the kids. His prime target will be a little old lady who is widowed or divorced. She has her Social Security, maybe a small pension from her years teaching school, some income from the investments that she and her husband made over the years and the money she got when she sold the family home. That’s what he’ll go after.”

“The money she made off the real estate?”

Clare nodded. “It will be sitting in a bank somewhere, probably in nice, safe certificates of deposit. She doesn’t want to put it at risk because she’s determined to leave an inheritance for her children. Nelson Ingle’s prime objective will be to convince her that her money will be just as safe in one of his investment schemes. He’ll guarantee to triple or quadruple the interest income.”

Jake turned his head to look at her through the shield of his dark glasses. “You know guys like this.”

She shrugged. “You read predators. I read liars. Whatever else he is, we know for a fact that Nelson Ingle is a liar.”

Jake looked at the door again. “I lied to you.”

“I know.” She smiled faintly. “You were good at it, too. Takes a lot of talent to keep me guessing.”

“So, do you hate my guts now that you know the truth?” he asked, still watching the door.

Startled, she turned slightly in the seat. Jake’s profile could have been carved in granite.

“You’re talking about the fact that you didn’t mention that you happen to be working for Jones & Jones, aren’t you?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Good grief. Why would I hate you? You have a job to do.”

He turned his head to look at her with hard eyes. “You were never supposed to be part of the job.”

“But I became part of it. Not your fault. It’s all right, Jake. I understand.”

“You really do have a slightly offbeat philosophy on the subject of lying, don’t you?”

“Like I said, the ability to lie is a tool, as far as I’m concerned. What matters is context.”

He started to smile.

“That does not mean, however, that I have changed my mind about Fallon Jones,” she added crisply.

His teeth gleamed in a wolfish grin. “I don’t give a damn how you feel about Fallon as long as you’ll still sleep with me.”

“I’m glad you have your priorities straight. Now, I think we should postpone the rest of this conversation until a more convenient time. This is where we get to corner one of the bad guys and scare him into spilling all his evil secrets, remember?”

“Yeah,” Jake said. “This is the fun part.”

“You know, you remind me of those coyotes that come around hunting in the morning.”

“Is my tongue hanging out yet? I hate it when my tongue hangs out. Kind of embarrassing.”

“I don’t see any tongue.”

“That’s good.” He unbuckled his seat belt, cracked open the door and got out. “Let’s do this.”

She braced for the blast of heat and opened her own door.

Jake joined her on the sidewalk. Together they went to the front door of Ingle Investments. Jake pushed open the door with his good arm.

A draft of arctic air enveloped Clare. She took off her dark glasses and did a quick assessment.

Ingle’s office could only be described as nondescript. The carpeting was beige. A couple of standard-issue Arizona-sunset paintings hung on the walls. There were two chairs and a low table. A newspaper and some magazines were neatly stacked on the table. There was no receptionist.

The door to the inner office was closed. Clare could hear low voices on the other side.

An elderly woman with a helmet of tight gray curls sat in one of the two client chairs. She peered suspiciously at Clare and Jake through her reading glasses.

“Mr. Ingle’s with a client,” she announced loudly. “I’m next.”

“Thank you for telling us,” Clare said politely.

Reassured that the newcomers weren’t showing any signs of trying to move to the head of the line, the woman relaxed.

“Hot enough for you?” she asked.

“It certainly is,” Clare said.

“Gonna be a real scorcher tomorrow,” the woman assured her. “Heard it on the news this morning. Lucky we’re not over there in Phoenix. Always ten degrees hotter there than it is here.”

“Heard that,” Jake said.

The door to the inner office opened. A distinguished-looking man in his mid-forties held it for a white-haired lady who was pushing a walker. The man had to be Ingle, Clare decided. He was just as Elizabeth had described. Patrician and conservatively dressed in a white shirt and tie, he had the air of an old-fashioned family lawyer. The kind of guy most people would trust on sight, she thought.

But not her.

“Good-bye, Mrs. Donnelly,” Ingle said in a rich, warm tone. “It was a pleasure to meet you. I hope I was able to answer your questions about the investment to your satisfaction.”

“Yes, you did, Mr. Ingle.” The woman beamed, clearly pleased with whatever had been said about the investment. “It sounds like just what I’ve been looking for.”

“Please don’t hesitate to give me a call if you have any more questions,” Ingle said. “Otherwise, I’ll see you on Friday. I’ll have the papers drawn up and ready to sign.”

“I just want to be sure that my money will be safe,” Mrs. Donnelly said. “At my age one can’t afford to risk the principal, you know.”

“It will be rock-solid safe and insured, just like in a bank.” Ingle smiled. “But you will have the advantage of making at least twenty-five percent return on your money.”

The lie fell into the ultraviolet range.

Unpleasant little frissons of energy snapped across Clare’s senses, sparking the familiar, nerve-jarring fight-or-flight response. Ingle enjoyed his work. The unwholesome lust that tainted the energy pulsing from him sent shivers through her.

Automatically she fought the jangling mental alarms that threatened to overwhelm her senses.Fight, not flight.

Outrage kicked in on cue, dampening the panic.

She glanced at Jake. Energy was coming off him in waves. Of course, it didn’t take any special sensitivity to recognize Ingle’s blatant deception. No legitimate investment adviser could guarantee a twenty-five percent return on asafe, insured investment, not in this market. That kind of profit could only be had at the price of taking a huge financial risk—just the sort of risk that a person living on a modest fixed income had no business taking.

In all fairness, Claire thought, as far as Ingle was concerned, the woman’s money wasn’t going to be put at risk. The senior’s life savings were undoubtedly destined for Ingle’s own private offshore bank account.

Clare looked at Mrs. Donnelly. “Never believe anyone who tells you he can get you that kind of return on a supposedly insured investment,” she said. “Ingle is lying through his teeth.”

There was an audible gasp from the woman seated in the reception room.

Mrs. Donnelly’s jaw sagged. “What on earth?”

“Leave this to me, Mrs. Donnelly,” Ingle said, righteously stern. He took an ominous step toward Clare. “I don’t know who you are, but I do know that you have no right to be here. I’m going to call the police.”

“Suit yourself,” Clare said. “But first you’re going to talk to me and my associate.”

Ingle frowned at Jake. Jake smiled.

Ingle took what looked like an unconscious step back. He glanced at Clare. “Just who the hell do you think you are?”

She reached inside her purse, extracted her wallet and flipped it open to display her driver’s license.

“Clare Lancaster, Arizona State Anti-Fraud Bureau,” she said briskly. She snapped the wallet closed before Ingle could get a close look at it. “We’re here to talk to you about a little matter of investment fraud, Ingle.”

“Fraud?”Mrs. Donnelly repeated, alarmed.

“What’s this?” The woman in the chair grabbed her cane and struggled to stand. “Did you say ‘fraud’?”

Ingle’s initial alarm gave way to anger. “There is no such thing as an Arizona State Anti-Fraud Bureau.”

“Okay,” she said easily. “Make it the Arizona State Anti–Fraudulent Licenses Bureau, Dr. Ronald Mowbray.”

“See here,” Mrs. Donnelly said. “Mr. Ingle’s not a doctor.”

“He certainly isn’t,” Clare agreed. “But he recently posed as one in Phoenix.”

Shock and something that might have been fear flashed across Ingle’s aristocratic features.

Now that was interesting, she thought. Ingle knew her license was a fake, but the mention of his stint as a phony shrink had unnerved him a lot more than the reference to his investment scams.

“Who are you people?” he demanded. His gaze flitted uneasily back and forth between Clare and Jake. “What do you want?”

“We should probably have this chat in private,” Jake said. He looked at the two seniors. “Ladies, if you’ll excuse us?”

“Now, hold on,” Ingle said quickly. “There’s no need for them to leave.”

He really was afraid, Clare realized. So much so that he actually wanted the two women to stay. Maybe he thought their presence offered some protection.

Jake moved, gliding toward Ingle with the lethal grace of the hunter closing in on prey. Clare felt the familiar brush of unseen energy lifting the hair on the nape of her neck.

Ingle probably felt it, too. He was a sensitive, after all. He fell back another couple of steps. Jake pursued him into the inner office.

Clare followed quickly, closing the door on the astonished faces of the two women.

“You can’t do this,” Ingle said. Panic roughened his voice.

“Sit,” Clare said.

“You’re the scam artists, not me,” Ingle shot back, desperate. “How dare you barge in here like this?”

“You heard the lady,” Jake said. “Sit.”

Ingle swallowed hard. He turned, went very quickly behind his desk and sat down abruptly.

Jake moved again, as fast or even faster than the first time. It seemed to Clare that in the blink of an eye he had circled the desk and grabbed Ingle’s right wrist.

“No guns,” Jake said.

He opened the drawer that Ingle had been reaching for and removed a pistol. Then he made a quick check of the rest of the drawers and felt around under the desktop. When he was satisfied, he stood back, holding the gun loosely at his side.

“Put your hands on the desk,” he said to Ingle. “Leave them there where I can see them.”

Clare looked at Jake, raising her brows inquiringly.

He shook his head. “Pretty sure this wasn’t the pistol that was used to kill McAllister or anyone else, for that matter. There aren’t any traces on it. It’s clean.”

“What are you talking about?” Ingle yelped. “I didn’t kill McAllister.”

Clare turned back to him. “Somebody did.”

“Not me.” Ingle seemed to fold in on himself. He flattened his palms on the desk. “All right, I understand what’s going on here. Let’s get to the bottom line. What’s this going to cost me?”

Clare sat down in one of two client chairs and crossed her legs. “You’re going to get off cheap. All we want are answers.”

“Bullshit.” Ingle rallied a little. “I know a couple of blackmailers when I see them. You want money.”

“No.” She smiled coldly. “Just answers.”

“About what?” he asked warily.

“Let’s start with your role as Dr. Ronald Mowbray in Phoenix,” Clare said.

Ingle looked at her for a moment and then turned to Jake. “First, tell me who I’m dealing with.”

“I’m with Jones & Jones,” Jake said.

Ingle was startled. “I haven’t done anything to attract the attention of Jones & Jones.”

“Yes,” Jake said, “you have. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here, would I?”

Ingle regarded him carefully. “What are you? One of the throwbacks they say work for J&J?”

Clare was on her feet without conscious thought. She swept past Jake and came to a halt in front of the desk. Planting her palms on the gleaming surface not far from Ingle’s hands, she leaned forward and lowered her voice.

“Mr. Salter is not a throwback,” she said. “He is aninvestigative consultant. You will show him respect. Is that understood?”

“Hell, everyone knows about the exotics Jones & Jones uses,” Ingle said.

“Let me put it this way,” Clare interrupted. “If you do not show Mr. Salter the appropriate degree of professional respect, I will see to it that you are turned over to the Tucson police this afternoon along with all the evidence they will need to send you to jail for fraud. Your name and face will be on the evening news and in tomorrow morning’s papers. Do we have an understanding, Ingle?”

Ingle’s jaw flexed a couple of times. “Certainly, Miss Lancaster. Whatever you say. I am, of course, happy to cooperate with Jones & Jones.”

The sarcasm was only barely concealed but she decided to let it go. Time was a factor, after all.

She took her hands off the desk, turned and walked back to her chair. Out of the corner of her eye she could see that Jake was amused. She flushed. As if he needed her to defend him, she thought.

For the second time she sat down and crossed her legs.

“Now then, about your career as Dr. Ronald Mowbray,” she said to Ingle.

Ingle seemed to relax a little. He was obviously less concerned now that he knew Clare and Jake were connected to Jones & Jones.What did he fear more than the Arcane Society’s investigators ? Clare wondered.

“Brad McAllister contacted me,” Ingle said. “He told me that he wanted me to play the part of a shrink for a couple of months. Said it would only require two days a week and that it wouldn’t interfere with my business here in Tucson.”

“Were you two acquainted before he contacted you?” Clare asked.

“No,” Ingle said. He smiled humorlessly. “We weren’t exactly in the same league. McAllister was a major player. He must have made millions over the years. In case you didn’t notice, my clients don’t come from the higher tax brackets.”